


This. Is. Us.

by Ecila



Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5 worlds collide, AU, Abusive Parents, Actor - Freeform, Best Friends, Famous, High-school au, Homosexuality, M/M, Parallel Universe, Popular, Us - Freeform, alcoholics, bad boy, different house-situations, experiencing oneselves, is - Freeform, musician - Freeform, nerd, outcast, player - Freeform, student council president, teacher!Nick Grimshaw, this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:29:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecila/pseuds/Ecila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU or maybe PU (hehe, PU=Parallel Universe)</p><p>5 boys.<br/>The student council president.<br/>The bad boy.<br/>The outcast.<br/>The womanizer.<br/>The musician.</p><p>Five different worlds that collide and intertwine into one story. The story of their lives. “This. Is. Us.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	This. Is. Us.

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I've been (again) working on a new project called "This. Is. Us." and honestly, I'm thrilled to share it with you all :)  
> So far I'm only working on the first chapter, but it's gonna be great, I promise. It may be my biggest project yet :)  
> So far I have 8,5k words, but, hell, this is still the first chapter, so quite a few more to go, yeah? :)  
> Be excited. Main cast (with plenty of side characters): Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and many many more :)
> 
> Also Zac Efron, Demi Lovato, Logan Lerman and... just, you'll love it, if you give it a shot. 
> 
> Seeing as there'll be "real people" playing their "real characters" (or what I like believe they're maybe or maybe not like) this is also a Parallel Universe kinda story.

Liam Payne glances at his clock opposite from his bed, pushing the covers off of him once realizing that it is the time of the day again, for a new start. So he scrambles to his feet, yawns and makes sure to cover his mouth even if there are no people around him – it is common courtesy after all, and then walks dressed in barely his pants and boxers to the rest room to take a quick shower like every morning. He doesn’t need to shave, seeing as he’s done it yesterday already. So when he’s done with the shower and feels fresh, he remains at the sink, stares at himself in the mirror in front of it and starts brushing his teeth, before he stalks back into his room and dresses himself properly. With _dressing properly_ it is meant that Liam makes sure to straighten the tie the shirt and quite a bit posh vests he adds above and the dim jeans that perfect his normal outfit. He looks right out formal in his normal attire, because that is his style. He doesn’t specifically opts for _formal_ , but it always comes across as such. It is probably good, given that he’s the student council president of his school. It is expected of him to wear clothes like this, to look respected like that. So it is a good thing that his style happens to be quite the wanted stereotype, with no pressure of some sort.

Liam, after making sure with one last glance that his clothes are not wrinkled –because that would make him look unkempt, disheveled, _sloppy_ even, takes the bag he’s cleared up yesterday evening to make sure he’s got everything inside he needed, checked it off his list of _things to take with to school_ , and then walks down the stairs with a skip in his step, as happy as ever. Liam Payne is one happy sunshine, always smiles and always happy. Unless faced with such things as disarray. Being his perfectionist self, disarray is the one thing he really can’t stand.

Downstairs, he hears his mother’s usual “Morning love” and replies with the same old answer of every day, a peck on her cheek and “Good morning, mommy,”. So what, he calls his mom still ‘mommy’, it’s not a bad thing and he isn’t ashamed of any sort. If anything, he’s proud because his relationship with her is so brilliant, so close. Not much teenage boys could admit to that, but Liam easily can. He is proud of it. And besides, he loves his mommy so much, he’d never deny that. He’s not like that. Never been, never will become. He’s a definite _Momma’s boy_ and likes it that way.

While Nicola, his oldest sister has left the house a few years ago, his other sister Ruth, only one year older than him, is still at home and quite content doing so, as she sat at the kitchen counter, taking a sip of her coffee, while granting Liam a smile. “Morning baby brother.” It’s her usual choice of words, as she gives him a playful wink, to which Liam always shoves her playfully in response. It’s their morning ritual, really. Because if anything the Payne household is predictable. At least in the morning routine that always is the same. All same smile, same action and same words. But what is important is that all those actions are done with sincerity, familiarity and content.

Liam takes a seat beside her, asks the same as each day, such as how her day would be, and starts eating the eggs and bacon his lovely Mommy had done, keeping his hands completely clean, while using both knife and fork to cut all in suitable pieces and gracefully eating it. Ruth is used to his ways, shakes her head in amusement, because she’s been stuffing down her eggs with a toast – held it in her _hands_ – with no silverware whatsoever. But Liam being Liam, he would probably eat the toast cut in small _mouth-suitable_ -pieces, like he likes to call it and with the knife and fork.

“Kids, you need to get going…” Karen Payne, also known as Liam’s _Mommy_ , calls out, washing her hands, after having cleaned some dishes of last night’s dinner, because her husband had eaten long after she’d gone to bad and left his dishes dirty in the sink. It’s no surprise and it doesn’t bother her as much as it used to do. She’s grown used to his antics and puts up with him, not particularly happy – and his antics arise quite a bit of spats, but they make up soon enough and still have a happy marriage going.

“Right,” Ruth mutters, running a hand through her freshly short-cut hair, smiling at her mother as she drops the mug of coffee onto the table and rushes up stairs.

Liam shakes his head, knowing she’s forgotten her bag up in her room. She’s far too unorganized. That will surely trouble her at some point in life, Liam is convinced, but doesn’t tell her that, because she’s a happy bubble of sunshine, when she isn’t mad and Liam adding his opinion about _how_ she lives is certainly something that can her mad. Correction: _will_ get her mad. So Liam doesn’t say any of his thoughts that he ends with ‘then I’ll have to take care of her’ and then he smiles, because he really does love his sister. And even if she is older than him – and often plays that card when they’re having one of their sibling banters, Liam has the urge to protect her. It’s grown stronger after her first boyfriend and then the following first heartbreak and Liam is convinced, he’s never seen this side of himself, where his blood boiled in anger and he wanted to punch someone. He did punch someone – her now _ex_ -boyfriend. And even if he should, he can’t find it in himself to regret any of it. But Liam is by no means a violent person, really far from it.

Ruth then comes running down the stairs and Liam bites down the urge to scold her about the danger that comes with running and stairs combined, because they would be late if they got into a banter, which was bound to follow, if he’d bring the subject up. It was an open challenge in Ruth’s eyes, Liam knows, so he refrains and grins instead. “Ready to go?” he questions, sliding his bag onto his shoulder, his hazel eyes adverting to Ruth’s face to see her thinking, literally thinking.

“I think so, yeah.” And Ruth doesn’t sound convinced at all, but shrugs her shoulders in a careless manner, grinning at Liam and adds playfully, “Doesn’t even matter if I forget something… if necessary, someone will probably help me out.” She adds that, because they both know Ruth _always_ forgets something, from her gym clothes to her pencil case and her notes, really, you name it, she lost it at some point in her school career.

“You are so,” Liam shakes his head and smiles, because he loves his sister just the way she is, “unbelievable.”

“Mhm, I still believe that we are truthfully twins.” She then exclaims, smirking at her younger brother. “You and I were born at the same time, so when our genes were made, they added all thoughtfulness, manners and perfection to you and left the spontaneity and the disheveled mess-ish ways for me. That’d explain how we’re like we are.” Ruth grins at Liam’s expression, runs a hand through his light few-inches long hair and ruffles it lightly. “Aren’t you just adorable?”

Liam then smiles, amusement on his face, “As always.”

“Cheeky too, yeah?”

“Just for you.” Liam laughs and turns to the door, after getting on his shoes he calls out for his mother, “Love you, Mommy… have a great day!” and then he’s out the door with Ruth by his side and she gives him a smirk again.

“Always Momma’s boy, huh.” Ruth laughs, trying to tease her brother. It just really is how their relationship works.

Much to her disappointment, Liam nods his head, all smiles and honest, “Yeah, _very much so_.” He grins back at Ruth, either oblivious to her teasing manner or ignoring it blatantly.

“You’re being no fun,” Ruth pouts, realizing Liam is probably doing it on purpose.

Liam grins now in response, “Yeah, I know.” He laughs, when seeing her face and they both approach his car that they somewhat share, “But I love you.” He adds; hazel eyes sincere and light and he grins when she shakes her head at him, because she always does that at his usually unexpected professions of love.

“Don’t look at me like that, Li. You look like a puppy.” It is Ruth’s way of saying that she loves Liam too, because she isn’t much of love confessions. She is rather one to keep those kind of words locked to herself, so Liam laughs and unlocks the car, while she walks around to the passenger seat and they both slide inside.

“Good.” And then Liam starts the engine to drive them to school – it is perfectly convenient that both go to the same school. They probably were send to that school for that very reason.  

 

 

*

It is early in the morning in the hotel room, the curtains are half open, sun shining inside, lighting all in gold colours. A mess of limbs is covered in a bundle of blankets, while few strands of brown curls peak out of the mess. Close there is a face, only shown below the covers, face female and with a tan that looked not sun-kissed, but tan-sprayed, a golden orange mixture of skin.

“Have you seen my bra?!” the third person in the room, that flitted round and about shouted from the rest room, her legs long and thin and her physique very much resembling the girls in the Vogue. Her breasts, firm and big and a bit fake and very much revealed, as she entered the room again, hands on her hips. “Harry! Have you seen my bra?!” she calls out, her voice a pitch higher and much louder.

A groan escapes the huddle of limps on the bed as it moves and reveals a male face, along with the girl’s body that was somehow wrapped around his body. The curly haired male rubs at his eyes, deprived of his so much yearned sleep and squints into the bright room, at the barely clothed girl in front of him that kept her stance. “What?” he mutters, voice raspy and frankly sexy, as the other girls leans onto his body to brush her completely nude body against his.

“My bra.” The model standing exclaims, hands still on her hips as she watches her friend rub onto the male’s body, “My bra, Harry.” She repeats, adding his name for emphasize of her point.

Harry nods his head slowly as though he has a clue, yawns and then shrugs. “Yeah, don’t know. I didn’t throw it down… that was all you, love.” He replies with the sexy British accent that allowed him as much fun as he wanted with about every female. Really, there is absolutely no woman that had resisted his charm, ever. And if she did, she was his sister Gemma. Even his mother can’t very much resist him. He is quite endearing and charming, if he may say so himself a proud smirk lingering on his lips, when realizing he’s convinced these two girls to give him a shot – at the same time. You heard it folks, a threesome, everybody.

And even if girls weren’t his preferred gender, it is much easier finding two willing woman, then two willing man. And one man and one woman with Harry usually either led to Harry and the male getting it on and the girl annoying them, or the girl and the male leaving Harry out in their love-fest. So yeah, it is quite complicated to be all honest to have a proper threesome. Which makes Harry all the more pleased that he’s managed to get a threesome that easily. He hasn’t asked for much, mentioned he lives in a hotel not far from the bar he’s chatted the two birdies up, and the rest, as they say, is history. History and a lot of sweat and action on the girls behalves, because he’s only fingered one girl, while both females mainly pleased him, licking him all over, giving him hand and blowjobs and yeah, it was quite nice. But aren’t threesome always?

Some people would never know the answer to that question and Harry frankly pities them a bit. It is quite the experience to be all honest.

“You’re no help at all!” annoying, standing Latina huffs, shaking her head, dark waves off hair flying back and forth in the motion as she turns around, showing off her perky little ass as she retreats back into the rest room in search of her undergarment. What was her name again? Tasha? Something like that. A… Natasha, maybe? Oh, why bother wondering.

Harry shuts his eyes again, letting out a low breath, “S’too early,” he mutters, all attempts of the blonde around him to turn him on to no avail, because if he doesn’t want to, _she_ certainly can’t get him in the mood. She just wasn’t all that attractive to him, despite the, um, tan and blonde hair and big, also half fake, breasts, she just wasn’t all that no matter the similar long legs and flat stomach. She was a nice body, okay face, that’s all. A body to use, a warmth to ravish and a name to forget.

That very much refers to both females, seeing as he can’t remember neither names. He hasn’t bothered trying to get to know them the night before, and neither had struck him as interesting enough to try at all. So that’s why they’ll be Blonde and Latina in his book, for as long as this morning will last, until their farewell. Which might be quite soon, if Latina doesn’t stop shouting. Good god, it’s too early for a sound that high.

The Blonde, Anna maybe? Or Rita? No, whatever, Blonde though doesn’t seem to understand English anymore, because she keeps rubbing her large breasts against Harry’s torso, and he wants to groan, because it’s so awkward and annoying. Harry reacts on instinct, pushes her roughly off his body and pushes all blankets aside to stand up. His boxer-clad body revealed to the world, he slowly walks to the chair that he’d placed his clothes on. Having had this kind of morning so many times, he’s gotten used to take care of his remaining clothes carefully, because it is far too bothersome to walk in wrinkled clothes, only because he threw his clothes all over the place. So Harry runs a messy hand through his curls, puts on the black skinny jeans of last night and the white shirt that complimented his lean, yet muscled body nicely.

“But Harry…” Blonde now starts whining, as she eyes him, “Why are you getting dressed? I thought we could go another round and—”

“No, I’m good.” Harry replies, rolling his eyes at her obliviousness. Was she even being oblivious or did she simply refuse to accept him not being affected by her nudity? Either ways, she was tiring to be in the presence of, so Harry does his normal morning ritual, pats his trousers’ pockets to make sure he’s got his keys, his iPhone and wallet. Finding all of those items in his pockets he turns to face Blonde on the bed, who stares at him with a pout. If anything that is a turn off. And fake breasts are too. No matter how large, but he doesn’t need to say that, because he knows he’ll never see either of the girls again. Well, not see _and_ _recognize_ , that is.

“S’been nice.” Harry says due to his manners, giving her a close-lipped smile and a slight wave before retreating to the door with a few long strides.

Only when Blonde is about to react, blue eyes wide in shock, Harry already slips out the door and out of earshot and okay, maybe he would’ve still heard Latina’s and Blonde’s obnoxious loud voices, but he prefers pretending he wouldn’t have, so yeah.

Harry leaves the hotel, seeing as he’s lied and it is _not_ his room, nor hotel at all. It’s a given that Harry Styles doesn’t even stay at a hotel, but at his real home. With his mother and sister. Well, those two are not too happy with Harry’s ways, well known with Harry’s reputation. But Harry has told both of them that he likes his life the way it is and he won’t change it. It doesn’t mean he treats females without respect; in fact he loves his mom and his sister dearly and treats them great. If only he’d treat other none-related females quite the same, then there’d be nothing to fight about in Harry’s life. As in for males in his family, Harry’s known his father, or the male that was part of his production, like Harry likes to call him, for a few years now, but he doesn’t really want to keep proper contact with the male that walked out on his mom and his sister when Harry was still a surreal future in his mother’s stomach. No, he refers to his stepfather Mark Cox as his father, calls him _dad_ actually, and loves that man. If only Mark had more time to spend at home, because Harry knows for a fact that his mom is quite a bit lonely by herself. Which led to her getting a job, which also in return led to the first actual argument between Mark and her, ever.

Harry had pretended to be blissfully oblivious to their situation, because frankly he saw it none of his business and old enough not to break into tears in case there’d be another divorce in his family. He wouldn’t stop seeing Mark as his father, even if they would be not really related on the paper anymore. Mark is the man that helped him grow into the healthy – a bit too sexually active – young male that he is and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

So, not wanting to disturb his family – Gemma is still asleep, because she’s got late courses and is in Uni already. Mark was called into work late at night, leaving Harry’s mom to sleep alone and feel yet lonely again – Harry sets foot into the small café that resembles a homey bakery by all the goods it sells (home-made, of course).

Harry smiles, being greeted by various waitresses, each of them about his grandmother’s age, or in their early sixties, and sits down at his usual spot by the window. “Mornin Mary,” he calls out to his favourite waitress, a woman that always made him smile with her crinkled eyed blue eyes and refreshing cheekiness, seeing as she’s turned 67 not too long ago.

“Harry, doll, what can I get you this fine morn’?” Mary with her white hair in a bun and a white apron around her waist, as she approached Harry’s table, smile wide and crinkles of happiness around her eyes.

“The usual,” Harry smiles, dimples evident and bats his eyelashes playfully.

Chuckling, Mary pushes him, “You little flirt, you…” and turns around, calls a “Coming right up, love” and walks to the back of the café to pass his order to their cook and starts walking around the table, chatting up some people and taking orders in the fairly empty café. Fairly empty in comparison to the usual mass of people in here. But it is early on a Wednesday and people have places to be, things to do and no time for a very delicious breakfast here.

Within a few minutes Mary returns with a croissant, three strips of bacon, eggs and a hot chocolate. “There ya go, doll. Anything else?” Mary asks, blue eyes filled with warmth like always and she then smirks, “Somethin’ other than a girl? Because I don’t think we sell them all proper and ready for you.”

And Harry would have spit out his hot chocolate, if he wasn’t so used to Mary’s ways and bites back a laugh, “So you sell’em, but just not ‘ _proper and ready_ ’, yah?”

“Oh Harold, what am I going to do with you…” Mary shakes her head, feigns disappointment but smiles anyways, eyes glinting with amusement. That’s probably what Harry likes most. They get on so well, and in a way, she’s a lot like the pranking grandma he’s never had.

“I don’t know, Mary… maybe hook me up with one of your friends?” Harry suggests, wiggling his eyebrows playfully as he starts jabbing away at his food, stuffing his mouth. Mary knows of Harry’s reputation and more importantly knows of Harry’s player ways. But she’s still here and still smiles at him with eyes that tell him, she’s knows he’s only a little boy experiencing life on his own terms and she accepts that. Accepts _him_ , and that is more than Harry could ever ask for.

“My friends?” Mary repeats, snorting right then and there and Harry laughs. “I doubt you’d want to start anything with either of them. Not that they’re not lovely. Maybe a bit out of your… age.” Mary grins, motioning with a vague hand motion toward the few other waitress, “ _They_ for example are all my friends.”

Harry chokes out a laugh, before pulling himself together and giving her a cheeky grin in return. “Well, I do like elder woman. Remember Caroline Flack?”

Caroline Flack has one of his many conquests and quite easy to lure to bed, really. She was older than him – 14 years to be exact. She had been 32 when he’s seduced her and while he found something about her alluring, in retrospect Harry had been disappointed with the casual sex he’d had as the outcome. No excitement, no _elder woman have more experience_ at all. They are maybe louder, but that is really all.

Mary snorts again, something she apparently often does, eyes crinkling in utter amusement, “Oh yah, I remember her. Petty little slut, that one was. I’m glad you dropped her fast.”

Harry snorts, biting back his laugh, because it is bluntly adorable to have Mary curse and frankly, she does that quite a bit too. But she’s a lovely woman, truly lovely. “I’m glad too. She got clingy right off the bat. Good thing I only gave her my old iPhone number.”

Mary raises a brow, “I haven’t heard that part of the story before, what do you mean?”

“Oh, well… a few days after her obnoxious, constant calls my iPhone fell onto the road and was straight driven over. So I had to buy a new one, new number and all.” Harry grins, perky whites revealed as he finally sets his fork down and lets out a sigh of satisfaction, hunger subdued, “Pretty convenient, innit?”

“Sure was, doll.” Another thing, Mary calls Harry ‘doll’ and he isn’t sure why, but he really loves that she does it. It makes him feel like they got a special bond. A mixture of family and friends and it’s really nice and assuring to talk with someone like family about his ways without receiving judgemental glances. Glances, because both his mom and Gemma wouldn’t openly speak their disapproval –not when they aren’t up for a fight– and would never want to hurt him. But he isn’t stupid and he isn’t oblivious, so a little does it hurt him anyways. Just not too bad.

“So, what’s your plan for today?” Mary wonders, clearing Harry’s plate and leaving the hot chocolate, seeing as it was still half full.

“Not much, meeting up with the usual delinquents.” Harry grins with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Lovely,” Mary smiles back, “Greet the boys, yeah? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Harry nods his head enthusiastically and laughs then, “Yeah, sure will. They love your receipt of Lasagne, by the way.”

“Is that your way of bragging that they liked your cooking, Harold?” Mary smirks knowingly, not fazed by Harry at all. She could easily see right through him.

Harry laughs, “Maybe. But it was subtle enough, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Marry shrugs and grins then, “So, feed the boys well for me, when I can’t.” Another thing Harry loves about Mary is that. She cares about him. And not only about him, his friends too. Friends that no one else really seemed to accept with him. The friends she easily befriended on her own terms and now considered something like her nephews, really.

“Will do, Mary.”

Harry, after another few minutes of soft chatting, squeezes Mary’s shoulder as he gets up, gives her ten dollars which will cover his costs and a bit of a tip and leaves the café with a content smile on his face.

 _A new day, a new shag_. Harry grins, deciding that it’d be best to go to school first. Unless he wanted one of his closest friends to freak out about his absence again. And that specific friend freaking out would be the start of the end, seeing as the others would pipe in and do bad _bad_ things. So it’s best to simply go to school. It’s not hard, really. The school he goes to is okay, he’s popular and famous and frankly, he’s got a reputation to maintain. Not that it takes much, seeing as many of his nights end like most students of his school predict his nights to – with woman at each arm. Sometimes only one, but he never leaves alone. And that is what Harry Styles is known for. The womanizer. The playboy. The seductive heartbreaker.

 

 

*

“LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON!” Louis’ mother, Johanna and preferably called Jay, called, voice raised to the limit as she stood at the end of the stairs, “ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE BEFORE—”

“AT IT!” Louis replies, irritation rippling his voice as he stumbles boxer-claded out of bed, throwing the blankets aside and sprinting to the phone on his table and answering in a much aggravated “ _WHAT_ ” that one should never answer the phone with. He’s been annoyed since his mother started shouting, but when her 7th shout came along, Louis had interrupted and given in to her persistence.

He hears chuckling on the other end of the line and groans. _Another_ fucker it is.

“Your voice sounds quite sexy over the phone, I give you that.” The male answers, amusement all over his voice.

“Fucker,” Louis replies, recognizing the voice immediately. How could he not, when it is the guy that had him inspired. Or well, the one that made him want to become an actor. One of the raw talents that Louis might or might not have had a crush on in his earlier years. The famous actor himself, Zac Efron.

“Is that way to talk to your celebrity crush?”

So Zac Efron teases Louis and knows he used to be his celebrity crush. No big deal in this case. Louis has grown accustomed to Zac’s ways that are quite different from what he seemed in ‘High School Musical’. He wasn’t all that boyishly cute. He was a lot more of a twat, but that is something the public will never know about their perfect Golden Boy. They only see what they want to see. Clean, perfect image, that is. Sad world for the celebrities nowadays. The received need to be perfect isn’t all that fun, even though from Louis’ point of view, Zac is handling all that rather well. Quite impressive, but he would never admit to that.

“S’too early for teasin’.” Louis mutters matter-of-factly, his eyes drooping closed a little as he leans his head against the cool wood of his desk. “Too fucken early, m’te.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just called so you wouldn’t forget today’s change of plans about the location and the scene.” Zac replies, voice all smooth and fresh and awake and _oh god, too early_.

“Hate’chu…” Louis mutters, instead of reacting to Zac’s words at all, making the older lad let out a loud laugh.

“Do you? Do you really?”

And Louis would never admit to it right now, but no of course he doesn’t _really_. He’s quite fond of the crazed American that had quite the remarkable image in the public’s eyes. It’s funny how things could revert so much from what people see of a person. Because in real life Zac Efron is much more annoying, really. Much less _hurting/brooding sexily by himself_ -Troy Bolten and a lot more _in your face, you ass fucker!-_ Efron.

“Shuddup. Too early for ya antics…” Louis presses his eyes shut, tighter, just wanting to feel welcomed by the darkness again and sleep it off and—

“Are you fuckin’ falling asleep on me?!” Zac’s deep baritone sounds awfully obnoxious in Louis’ dream-like state. Too loud, too much.

So the feathery-haired boy with the blue eyes who really wants to sleep, groans, “Not now, Zac. Not fuckin’ _now_.” And he means it, his voice a bit exasperated and on the edge, because well, shouldn’t it be obvious why? He really wants to sleep, _that’s why_.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoil—”

“No, fuck, _no_ —” Louis groans loudly, “Just… annoy Demi, ya? I hear she just arrived here so… yeah, just… bother her, please. Just… _please_.”

Zac’s laugh is too loud in response. Too annoying, even _if_ Zac’s laugh is quite melodic. “Okay, I’ll try that.” He finally says and snorts, “See you later.” And then the line goes dead and Louis thanks whoever god he owns that relief to, as he opens his eyes just enough to glance around the room and stumble back to the bed. Pulling his covers over his body is one move and then his eyes are closed and he’s about back to dreamland.

“LOUIS!”

 _Oh fucking hell_. “WHAT!” he shouts, voice tinted with that familiar edge, when Louis grows severely pissed. He isn’t too far from it, to be all honest. He’s quite done for the day – and the day hasn’t even begun just yet.

“Time to get up!”

Hell to the _no_. “Not getting up today, mom.” Louis groans and shakes his head, even if his mother can’t see. And she can’t, seeing as she keeps pounding on the door from outside, demanding entrance. When did she even come up the stairs, anyways?! She could’ve stayed downstairs longer. Preferably until she had to leave for work, so she wouldn’t try to work her poor little boy, who was desperate for a good sleep.

Louis internally groans, “Let it go, mom… M’not gonna go today. I’m beat, just—I’ll go tomorrow, promise.” He calls out, mainly exhaustion speaking, as he lets out a low breath.

“LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON! You get off your darned lazy ass right now and get ready for school, or I swear to god, I will—”

“Good god, I’m up. _I’m up_!” Louis interrupts her the moment her voice swerves to swearing and threatening, because whenever she’s like that she is frankly really scary. Also, she has got a lot to blackmail him with. Which she isn’t too low to do, in fact. She’s done it before, not too drastic, but she always got her way for that. Some mother she was. Worse than the son.

His cobalt eyes are open and he curses lowly under his breath, as he pushes the comfortable blankets off of his body again, grieving about the cold that surrounds his boxer-clad body. “Too early for this…” he mutters with a shake of his head to himself, warily crossing his rather small room and opening his closet. His eyes merely skim across all clothes, before he pulls out what looks like a comfortable grey jumper, suitable black jogging pants and a navy tank top to finish the look off. He got no one to impress at school, far from it, so he really dresses like he walks around at home. Jumper and jogging pants and some shirt if he feels like it. He actually quite likes to feel the jumper’s warm fabric on his skin without any other fabric in-between, but maybe that doesn’t quite suit _school_. He’s actually into wearing stripes, and his closet is truly full with it – that and suspenders, but he wants to remain invisible in school, so it’s easiest to dress comfortable and inconspicuous. Well _Louis’_ definition of inconspicuous, that is.

He throws the chosen clothes onto his bed and walks out his room to the bathroom. It takes only a second to strip out of his boxers and enter the shower. He inhales the moist air, when he turns on the water and the relief that settles in his stomach, when the soothing water starts dropping down on him. He loves showering, he really does. It’s nice, soothing, comfortable and so refreshing.

Washing his hair with a generous amount of shampoo and cleaning his body in calm, slow motions, he is finished after about ten minutes and exits the shower, comfortable without clothes and his dripping body. He then takes the towel and carefully rubs himself dry, stifling another yawn. It really is too early. Little of him curses school, curses the sun to be up and the clock to be so wrong and so annoying and _god, even thinking is annoying now._

Louis, with a towel around his waist, takes his toothbrush and starts brushing his teeth and after one glance at the mirror, which frankly isn’t necessary, seeing as he couldn’t care less about his appearance, he walks to his room and drops the towel to the ground, putting on a pair of clean boxers, the comfortable jumper and jogging pants and glances at last at the bed that still held his tank top. Right. He forgot about that. With a slight groan he pulls of the jumper again and puts on the tank top before slipping the jumper back on.

He’s quite uncoordinated with his life, but that’s fine like that. He likes it. He likes messy and spontaneous and he also likes believing that is how he’s like. Maybe he’s not, but let the boy dream, yeah?

So he stumbles down the steps, in search for his bag and smiles when crossing his mother. He can pretend to stay mad at her for making him go to school, but really, he can’t. He can’t be mad. He loves her to pieces and frankly, she knows it. And takes a bit of advantage of it – and apparently the two of them are scarily alike, seeing as Louis would do the very same thing in her position. He got all the wits and humour from his mother. Quite common, seeing as his father – whose name shall not be named – has left them for, and Louis quotes, his _other family_. Yes, the man had the decency to call that woman he knocked up his _other family_. Frankly, Louis had blocked out that man’s existence from his 10 th birthday onwards, because what is the point, really. His mother had cried so many nights for that worthless piece of scum– _that man_ , that Louis can only despise him. There really is no other option. Also, he walked out on them. He _walked out_ on them. He walked out on them _for another family_. _His **other** family_. Louis used to think that worthless– _that man_ must have had a proper reason for all. He wanted to _believe_ in his father, but when years passed and the male never returned to their doorstep, Louis gave up on him and frankly has erased his existence from his brain now. He doesn’t need someone like that in his life and he prefers being without for the rest of his life. Prefers to think of himself with only one parent, because the other part is dead. That theory isn’t all that wrong, seeing as the man Louis used to call his ‘daddy’ was a generous, kind man, who loved his family dearly and who’d never hurt them in any way. Who also would _never_ walk out on them. Never. Because he loves them and wants to watch Louis grow up, get a degree, do something with his life and get married and blissfully happy. Yeah, his real daddy wants all that and would have done it, if fate hadn’t struck and he’d ensured a lethal incident. That lethal incident being meeting his secretary, but that is one unimportant detail in Louis’ mind.

“Ready for school, Boobear?” his mother calls, hazel eyes crinkling by the sides as she runs around the kitchen to tidy it up a little, before leaving to work.

“Have to be, mom,” Louis grins and walks over to the woman, the _only_ woman he will ever love –seeing as he’s very gay– and kiss, and pecks her cheek lightly. “See you tomorrow.” He knows off her busy schedule that she works a lot overnight and late-night shifts that make their interactions decrease to the minimum and the time that they _did_ have all the more precious for the both of them. They got quite the great bond, really.

“Drive careful, yeah?” Jay then says, smiling slightly and hiding her worries behind it, as she places her hand on his cheek and rubs it softly.

“Mom, ‘ve had the bike for what, two years now? I think I know how to drive’it.” He assures her with a laugh, cobalt eyes –the only thing he admits having inherited from _that man_ – crinkled at the sides in amusement.

“ _Still_ ,” Jay insists, giving her son a warning look, “Be _careful_.” Her voice an air of finality.

“Will be, mom.” Louis replies, pecking her cheek ones more, “Now get going, you’ll be late too… and don’t worry your lip off, I’m _always_ careful.” Louis grins. “Oh, and about the call just now,” his lips automatically pulling downwards by the mention, because that call stole precious seconds of slumber and sleep and perfection of his time.

Hazel eyes meet his cobalt ones, “Yeah?”

“T’was Zac, the prick. He called to remind me of the change of location. So, I’ll probably be home by night… but, you won’t even notice seeing as you… oh,” Louis trails off, chuckling to himself, “Never mind, I’ll just text you the details when I hear’em, yeah?”

“Of course, boobear.” Jay smiles, radiating happiness now. “Love you.”

He grins back, nods his head and then spots his bag on the couch, running into the living room he snatches the bag off the black couch, slinging it onto his shoulder, “Chop chop, don’t wanna be late!” he calls out, motioning for his mother to go already as he walks to the door and puts on his favourite aqua toms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jay Tomlinson laughs, shakes her head at her son and shoves him a little out the door as she then locks it. “Greet the boys if you see them today, yeah? You know they’re always welcome here, even _if_ we don’t have too much space to spare.” Jay winks one last time and then rushes to her car and then she’s already gone.

Louis watches her for a moment before walking around to their garden and to his shiny black motorcycle. His baby, if you have it. The first thing he bought when he finally could. His Harley Davidson. So Louis isn’t into showing off, but he’s very much into his baby. Not that he lets people see him with it a lot, and even if they did, with the helmet on his head, people wouldn’t recognize him anyways. It must look a funny combination though, baggy clothes and all mess on a shiny black Harley Davidson. He did often receive quite a few stares, some impressed, some confused with the given sight.

So when Louis places the helmet onto his head and leads his Davidson to the street, he settles on his baby within seconds and then speeds off as well, loving the feel off the strong wind all around him. It’s liberating. Freeing. _He_ really _loves his baby_.

 

 

*

“Young Master, it’s time to wake up.” A young maid leans over the male covered in blankets, carefully separating the blanket from his face to reveal a blonde haired head and a young face to accompany it. “Young Master,” the maid, Sophie, tries again, shaking the male’s shoulders softly. “You will be late to school, if you don’t wake up and get ready soon.” She tries reasoning, her voice soft and kind as she tries waking him by brushing the hair out of his face and pinching his shoulder lightly.

“M’up, m’up!” the blonde boy, Niall, exclaims, eyes fluttering open to reveal two depths of light sky blue. “Soph, d’you really need to wake m’up s’early?” Niall murmurs, voice sleep-stricken and raspy as he yawns, revealing perky white teeth in the process.

“You know I had to, young Master.” Sophia replies, smiling fondly down at the boy she’s watched growing up into this handsome young lad and runs a hand affectionately through his messy few-inches long hair. “What would you like for breakfast?”

Niall’s eyes, still half-closed, slowly crack fully open, “Yeah… yes, breakfast… sounds good.” He yawns and then smiles at her with a grin that is very much fond and cute.

Receiving no answer to her question and only an enthusiastic ‘yeah, yes’, Sophia giggles, “I knew that you’d want breakfast. But _what kind_ , was my question, young Master.”

“When are you goin’ to stop call me _young Master_ , Soph? We’ve known each other for– _well_ , I’ve known y’ever since I was born. You obviously haven’t, seeing as you’re older than me.” Niall rubs his eyes with his fists and Sophie felt reminded of how young and precious he still is, despite his body having developed rather well in the last few years and made his physique mature out, by heart he is still all child and innocent.

“I’m sorry, young Master. You know it is my obligation to refer to you as such. The last time we tried changing that up, things didn’t go down so well, don’t you remember?” Sophie smiles, even though she doesn’t feel all that happy by the memory of being scolded loudly by that terrifying man that paid her for raising this blonde boy. He had been quite horrible and loud, when he heard of their familiarities and how she referred to Niall with his first name and promptly lost it right there. Frankly spoken Scott Horan has a short temper and driving him over the edge is not recommended at all. So Sophie avoids that for as much as possible, she needs this place to stay, the money for living and can’t afford to thoroughly anger Niall’s father, like she partly would love doing.

“Yah, I remember. He was one bloody bastard to you.” Niall shakes his head, his anger waking him up fully, as he then lets out a low sigh. He hates how powerless he feels when it concerns his stubborn father, who just _won’t_ listen to a thing he says. Far from it, it’s like Niall is saying nothing at all, when he talks with his father about his passion for music and his band and that they finally have their first proper gig – to which his father only replied that Niall should “focus on his studies, his grades haven’t been _good enough_ lately”. To which Niall had fumed, because he could never seem to reach his father’s expectations, never. There is _always_ something wrong with him, _always_ something missing. Sometimes, Niall thinks that his father believes they picked up the wrong infant at the hospital, when it was time to leave. That or his father really wished they had done so, so he could return Niall and take the smarter, more brilliant and intellectual and intelligent kid he then could claim his son and be properly proud of. It’s not a nice feeling, knowing your own father very much disapproves of you and your choice of life. It is much worse knowing that his thoughts, as depressing as they currently must come across, are frankly true. His father had never hidden his irritation with how Niall had developed. All smiles, blond-dyed hair and a perky, loud personality. Not too much on the smart side of kids, in math or history, and very much into music, when he should be into studying. Into good grades, so he’ll graduate as valedictorian and hold a speech, like his father himself had done, and make himself a name as a lawyer and certainly not waste his time with _some stupid band_. Which, really, was the only time his father acknowledged the fact that there _is_ a band in Niall’s life.

“Master Niall?”

Right, back to the present. Niall reverts his eyes to Sophie and smiles, pushes the dark and saddening thoughts of his father’s rejection toward him away, “I’d love pancakes… with chocolate chip? And, if’s not too much t’ask for, d’love chips too. The ones Nita does _so_ lovely.” And then a real smile takes over his features. The woman Niall is referring to Anita, or _Nita_ for Niall, is the chef of the Horan residence and she has been for about 10 years already. She is one of the well-known names in the business off food and beverage, because she has already received the job in her early twenties and was quite famous for her success at such a young age. It was only natural that one of the bigger CEOs would take notice of her and buy her. Niall is very lucky to be spoilt with her blissful cooking and he thanks her personally for the amazing food each day, with some sort of snack between his teeth and smile white and perky like himself.

Sophie nods her head, curtsies and then excuses herself to get the information for breakfast to Anita, so Niall won’t have to wait much longer.

Niall smiles and nods his head and waves Sophie goodbye, because really, why not. He likes Sophie, she’s the sister he never had. In fact, the sibling he never had, because he’s always wanted a sibling – gender doesn’t even matter, just someone to get along with, when he’s basically imprisoned in this mansion he calls home. Someone to understand his situation, because they’re in the very same one. It sounds unfair to wish it upon anyone else to be in his very same position – or not, if you consider him being the only heir of Horan Enterprise, which makes it easily to the list of most successful companies worldwide. It’s probably in the top twenty. Top fifteen, maybe.

But his life isn’t all rainbows and sunshine, despite his privileged life-style. He suffers through suppression from his parents, lack of freedom, being watched twenty four seven by his father’s, or well _his own_ bodyguards, who deem it necessary to _keep an eye_ on him. He wants to live a normal life, complain about normal things such as ‘I really wanted that xbox, but mom says it’s too expensive’ or ‘I can’t go out if I don’t clean my room’ or those silly ‘mom won’t raise my allowance’ and yeah, it may seem silly but, those trivial small things are what makes life worthwhile. If you have everything in the palm of your hands, with a snap of your finger, they lose its worth. They lose its meaning, and certainly they lose their importance. So Niall is very indifferent to all that he gets, only happy when he had the money to buy his guitar, but really, that’s all. He doesn’t need money to buy the newest iPhone, because his iPhone 2 (was it even that version?) is still good enough. It works with apps, it’s got GPS, it’s good enough. Also, clothes changes with the season and styles repeat itself, so why should he always buy the _newest collection_ of clothes, really? What is the point, when he finds the same things already in his oversized closet, which is more of a room – actually it _is_ a room, it’s got a little coffee table and a couch and two chairs too. so if he ever had to hide anyone in his room, he’d push the person into his closet and wouldn’t be worried about that person suffocating and had a place to sleep, things to eat. Not that Niall had ever needed to do that, seeing as no one ever visited him.

Usually rich kids are quite popular and have a dozen friends, right? Well, Niall is different. He doesn’t flaunt the money and certainly he makes sure that no one knows that he got money to spare, because friends for money are something he really doesn’t need or want.

Well, Niall isn’t a complete loner, he does have friends, his _music friends_. Guys who are quite as obsessed with music as he is, those and a few others. His music friends consist basically of three guys and his three band mates. And while Niall is frankly not at the bottom of the food chain in school, he’s merely above average and by no means _popular_.

“Young Master, your breakfast!” he hears Sophie call and about a second later the double doors to his room open, revealing Sophie with a filled tray in hand that she swiftly carries to his bed, placing it beside him onto his bed. Walking outside again, she emerges soon after with a cup and a small saucer below it. Placing both on the nightstand beside his bed, Sophie smiles at the blonde boy, “Would that be all, Young Master?”

Niall nods his head and smiles gratefully, “Yeah, thanks. You’re the best, Soph.”

Sophie smiles warmly, curtsies and then leaves the room, because despite being Niall’s personal maid, she had other things to take care of. Other priorities beside him.

Halting right at the door, Sophie turns to look at Niall.

Expectantly the blonde body looks up, mouth already filled with bacon and a crooked grin accompanying it, “What’isit?”

“Please remember, that you have only another 50 minutes, before you need to leave for school. Mr Horan explicitly said to get you to leave for school in time. He wasn’t happy with you leaving late two days ago.”

Right, because that is something to hold a grudge over. Being late two days ago. Niall internally snorts, but doesn’t want to trouble Sophie, therefore goes for a nod and grins, “Yeah, okay. I promise to eat fast.”

“No, Young Master that wasn’t my intention off—”

“S’okay, Soph. Just do the things you gotta do. I’ll be in time.” Niall practically shoos her away with another grin and a wink, to which Sophia reluctantly turns back and leaves through the double doors, closing it behind her.

Letting out a low sigh, Niall continues eating his utterly delicious food and sighs softly. One of the few perks of being rich was definitely the food. He may sound spoilt now, but hell, he doesn’t want to imagine a life, where he can’t enjoy Nita’s cooking, _ever_.


End file.
